


Trust At The End of a Blade

by buttmunchery



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Fluff, Haircuts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttmunchery/pseuds/buttmunchery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gokudera gives Yamamoto a haircut, as prompted by lady-matryoshka@tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust At The End of a Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Little do you know, Yamamoto's hair is actually very important to me, also fluff ahoy.

It’s a hazy spring morning and the windows are open. It smells like dew and the sun hasn’t quite come up yet; the temperature is still frigid and it feels good to be in bed.

His bed is like a nest, he’s collected pillows and hoarded them, most likely, since he was a child. None of them go together, except for the few with matching pillowcases. Most are pillows that don’t even need cases, they’re like novelty, or hand sewn or hand me downs. He sleeps with a comforter that is far from new and hasn’t been washed in what is probably an eternity, but it smells like him and it smells like home and that’s good enough. The comforter is thick and heavy and smooth like the pelt of some majestic creature, and it’s trapping heat so well right now against the brisk breeze wafting through the window.

In his nest Yamamoto is sleeping soundly with a goofy smile, on his side. Yamamoto falls asleep like calm drizzle and sleeps like a rock, whereas Gokudera is a hurricane of twists and turns in the search for comfort. Yamamoto can sleep until ten or noon on a normal day when Gokudera’s been awake since six or has forced himself to sleep again. It’s seven now and he’s just watching, relaxed—he has no intention of waking the idiot up, the silence is too perfect.

Yamamoto’s hair is too long and too wild—when he sleeps he must be dancing or fighting or  _something_ , it looks like a cow has come in the middle of the night and stuck his hair straight up with spittle. Though Gokudera’s sure there have been no bovine in his apartment that night, he does know Yamamoto needs a haircut, bad, because soon those follicles are going to get a mind of their own.

He reaches out to touch Yamamoto’s hair gently, and despite its spiked appearance it is supremely soft. Yamamoto’s eyes glean open a little, and Gokudera retracts his hand quickly, huffing in embarrassment. Yamamoto’s eyes are closed again and and he’s really smiling wide now, lazily throwing his arms around Gokudera and pulling him close. Even despite morning breath and the deodorant having worn off during the night, neither pull away.

“What were you thinking about?” Yamamoto asks curiously, “You had the thing here and your eyes looked suspicious.” He prods the crease between Gokudera’s brows, and Gokudera knows by now suspicious means concentrated.

“I was thinking how dumb your hair looks right now,” Gokudera replies and bites his cheek to fight a smile as Yamamoto grins at him. “I was thinking that you look like some stupid video game character.”

“It is getting pretty long,” Yamamoto laughs before the silence hits them. Neither know what to do with silences. Yamamoto gets that determined half-lidded look, while Gokudera gives him an angry pout that says, ‘ _go ahead before I tell you to get away_ ’, and so Yamamoto kisses him with an open mouth. It’s soft and lazy like the hand on the nape of Gokudera’s neck, gently massaging with fingertips breaching his hairline. His heart beats hard in his chest when Yamamoto drags that hand across his jaw, cupping his cheek as he sucks on his top lip.

Yamamoto loves the calm before the storm, the warm, quiet Gokudera that gives validation and reciprocation without harsh words. Like any lover he grapples with insecurity, but mornings like this are enough to quell his fears.

The languid kiss ends slowly and they both break away in hesitation, but Yamamoto doesn’t want to move away so he presses his mouth to Gokudera’s forehead, nosing his hair.

“Why don’t you cut my hair?” He asks suddenly after a few moments of thought, moving his face away so he can look at him. He’s smiling like it’s the best idea he’s had in months (it probably is).

Gokudera wants to tell him a multitude of things, the most important being that ‘ _you do not want someone who copies the hairstyle of their perverted mentor to cut your hair_ ’, but he knows Yamamoto will not listen to that. In fact, he listens to very little, and when he gets an idea, he’s always firm about it, if pouting can be interpreted as firm.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He says instead, raising his eyebrows.

“Why not? You’ll do it for free so—”

“For food maybe, but not for free,” Gokudera cuts him off, squinting.

Yamamoto shakes his head, “I can do that! So you’ll do it?” He’s like an annoying puppy, Gokudera decides, a really stupid, hyperactive, annoying puppy.

“Fine!” Gokudera snaps, but he’s rolled out of bed at this point and has left for the bathroom. He can hear Yamamoto shouting thanks behind him.

***

He’s short of anything to cut hair with at his place, usually he just asks Bianchi or someone else to do it, and he also lacks food at his apartment. The walk to Yamamoto’s house is short and he’s glad Yamamoto is yammering away about something, that makes it easier to pretend he’s listening and not glued to his phone desperately looking up pictures of men’s haircuts.

None of them really strike his fancy, or strike him as suiting Yamamoto at all, but he finds one with a gentleman that is atoundingly attractive and pulls off the haircut so well. He’s just opened it into large view when Yamamoto’s hand claps his shoulder and the idiot’s face is inches away, trying to look at his phone.

“Whatcha looking at?” Yamamoto croons, by now the facade that Gokudera was actually paying attention to him has dissolved.

Gokudera hastily shoves his phone into his jeans pocket in return, gritting out, “None of your damn business.” Even though it really is, kind of his business.

When they come in through the front door of the shop his dad is all energetic smiles and greetings. He offers them miso, which they chug down before heading through the back and into the house.

Gokudera is constantly astonished by Tsuyoshi Yamamoto’s unwavering affection to his son, even after that one mortifying night he walked in on them. Gokudera had been very careful to keep space between them up until that point, but while his dad had been preoccupied in the restaurant they had gotten physical for one of the first times at Yamamoto’s house, only to be caught by the wind on the slightly open door, of his father passing through the hallway. “Sorry to interrupt son!!!” He exclaimed as he’d slammed the door, but that was the end of that, Gokudera already ten feet away, beet red and stammering. Yamamoto couldn’t set the mood back on track but he did admit his dad already knew.

And so each time he enters the Yamamoto residence with some guilt and shame, even though he knows it’s unlike either of the them to actually bring something like that up.

Yamamoto has him wait in the vast expanse of the living room while he fetches the clippers and scissors from the bathroom. When he returns they leave the house through the sliding glass doors and into the tiny, sad excuse for a backyard. It might be an eighth of an acre at most, the short grass slightly yellow and blocked off from the doors by a short expanse of concrete. The concrete lies underneath an awning coming off the roof, and is home to several pathetic lawn chairs.

Yamamoto entrusts him with the hair cutting tools and relaxes in the chair with the low back, watching with his neck craned back as Gokudera awkwardly plugs the clippers into the electrical outlet high on the wall, scissors sticking out of his pocket. Yamamoto slings a towel around his shoulders.

“Do you,” Gokudera starts, unzipping the bag that comes with the clippers, “Do you have a specific number in mind for this thing?” He knows enough about clippers to know that the numbers cut off more or less hair than the others, but which is highest and which is lowest he doesn’t.

“Ahh, one! For the back of my head. That’s the longest part, the rest of my hair you can cut with the scissors,” Yamamoto replies, finally lifting his head and straightening his back. “One won’t cut it too short.” He says like he’s done it a million times.

Gokudera clicks the addition into place and fires it up, running it through the back of Yamamoto’s head with trepidation.

Instantly, he turns it off.

“What?” Yamamoto asks, turning his head a little.

“I think three or four may have been the number you were looking for,” Gokudera replies with a frown, “it’s short.”  _How do you ever ask to get your hair cut somewhere?!_

“Oh man!” Yamamoto laughs, “That’s okay! Do whatever you want to my hair then. If you mess up, you can just shave it!” He’s laughing but Gokudera would have already if he didn’t have to be seen in public with Yamamoto.

He remembers the handsome man’s haircut on his phone as he turns the clippers back on, evening out the back of Yamamoto’s head. He presses it lightly to the place right under the top of his head, letting the hair there fade from long to short. He’s actually managed to give half of a good haircut, and that makes him swell with pride.

He trims the nape of his neck after detaching “one”, before trading the clippers for scissors. He works to trim the front and sides of hair without making it look like Squalo’s been hacking at his head. Yamamoto’s looking forward with his eyes relaxed and his eyebrows lifted in anticipation. He looks good, maybe not as handsome as Mr. Google Search Male Model, but the close cut on the back of his head really flatters him, much more than the dandelion bedhead did.

“Are you done?” Yamamoto asks with a grin, “Can I go look?”

Gokudera gives him a concentrated nod, packing the styling supplies neatly away as Yamamoto ditches the hair-covered towel and admires his own reflection in the sliding glass door.

“It looks great,” Yamamoto announces, and Gokudera only grunts a bit—he doesn’t take compliments well. He’s squatted on the ground, zipping the clipper bag in silence when Yamamoto squats beside him, cupping his face and kissing him in celebration.

“Thank you,” is the only thing he says. He’s smiling broadly and Gokudera’s face heats up as he breaks free from Yamamoto’s grip and stands.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s lunchtime,” Gokudera replies as he shoves the supplies into the now standing Yamamoto’s arms. He smiles back it him, it’s kind of forced looking but also smug, Yamamoto can tell he’s pleased without having to be told otherwise.

They leave the sliding doors open as they go back inside, after all, the cold breeze from the morning is warming into a beautiful spring wind.


End file.
